


You've made me into someone who should not hold a loaded gun

by illuminatedcities



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, OT4, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illuminatedcities/pseuds/illuminatedcities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Would you please stop,” Harold says sharply to where Root is still walking in circles, shooting worried looks at Shaw like she is going to fucking disappear and John just sitting there, looking her over for scratches when he is the one bleeding, and Sameen has had it with everyone and their worried looks and inability to just understand that she is not going anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've made me into someone who should not hold a loaded gun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GyrFalcon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GyrFalcon/gifts).



> For Reed, who wanted an OT4 poly pile. 
> 
> Title from “So long” by Ingrid Michaelson.

When they make it back, Bear comes running, wagging his tail, instantly making a beeline for John because he looks worst, his white shirt soaked in dark red.

  
“It’s okay, buddy, it’s not mine,” he says, leaning down from where Shaw has been supporting him, taking some of the weight from his bad knee.

  
Harold stands in front of his desk, certain that he has a number of important things to take care of, except his hands are shaking:

  
He looks down at them, annoyed, trying to will his body into cooperation.

  
“Harold,” Root says behind him.

  
She has one hand over her good ear where she was too close to an explosion, a shrill ringing like a bell still in her head.

  
John looks up at the sound of Harold’s name. Shaw has made a futile attempt to get him to take off his shirt so she can examine the damage, but John only crouches on the floor, his bloodstained hands in Bear’s thick fur.

  
“Is everyone alright,” Harold says, looking around.

  
Nobody knows what to say to that, bruised and beaten up as they all are, so Root steps forward and takes Harold’s trembling hands in hers.

  
“We all made it, Harry,” she says.

  
Harold looks at her, then back at John, his thoughts still racing, calculating every possibility.

  
“Reese, you need to sit the fuck down, you’re bleeding,” Shaw says, impatiently. “Actually, everybody should sit down, adrenaline crash is a thing.”

  
\--

  
Harold has turned a space in the back into a makeshift bedroom.

  
There are multiple mattresses on the floor, a couch with pillows and blankets stacked on it.

  
It’s not exactly luxurious, but it would do to provide a space to sleep for all of them in case of an emergency like Samaritan unraveling their cover identities, leaving them with nowhere to run.  
Bear barks and jumps on the couch while Shaw helps John to sit down on the first mattress and push a large pillow into his back so he won’t fall over.

  
Harold doesn’t want to sit, not only because lowering himself to the floor might be a rather ungraceful act, but also because he won’t be able to sit still anyway with his brain still racing. He is working through numbers and information at sickening speed:

_What could they have done differently, was there something that they had missed?_

  
Root seems to be in much the same state, circling them like a predator in a cage, and Shaw jumps up to find her bag with medical supplies and drag it over to take care of where Reese was _an idiot and got himself hurt._

  
“I was handling it, you didn’t have to jump into the line of fire for me like James goddamn Bond,” Shaw says, soaking the gauze with a little more disinfectant than strictly necessary.

  
John winces at the sting of alcohol in his wound, but his eyes are big and honest, pupils blown with the rush of chemicals in his blood.

  
Shaw is nearly finished taping him up when he says “I didn’t want us to lose you _again_ ,” and fuck it all, now it’s _her_ fault that Reese always has to play the damn hero --

  
“Would you please _stop_ ,” Harold says sharply to where Root is still walking in circles, shooting worried looks at Shaw like she is going to _fucking disappear_ and John just sitting there, looking her over for scratches when he is the one bleeding, and Sameen has had it with everyone and their worried looks and inability to just understand that she is not going anywhere.

  
“Fuck it,” she says, and while Reese wouldn’t understand what she was saying if she screamed it at him, he understands _touch_ , so she grabs his collar and pulls him down against her roughly, kissing him.

  
Root makes a choked sound behind her, but Sameen is already on that, breaking the kiss and blindly reaching behind her and grabbing a handful of Root’s leather jacket.

  
She pulls her down and Root’s knees simply give in until she’s kneeling next to Sameen, kissing her hungrily, her hands coming up to touch everywhere, her shoulders and arms, tugging at her shirt and pressing against her hips.

  
“Harold,” John says, where he has apparently recovered a little, looking at Harold like he will _drown_ if Harold doesn’t put his hands on him.

  
Harold, who has been standing on the sidelines, watching, with his pulse beating wildly in his throat, looks up at him.

  
_Yes, that is an excellent idea, a certain way to make his brain shut down:_

  
He puts his hand on the side of the couch so he can lower himself down in the space next to John.

  
If John seemed tired and docile just a moment ago, now he’s _moving_ , his hands on Harold as if he wants to make sure that Harold is still in one piece, that he hasn’t overlooked any bullet holes, sliding his palms over every inch of fabric, nosing his way into Harold’s collar, leaning against him and breathing him in.

  
Root and Sameen have stopped kissing to stare at each other, both panting heavily.

  
Root turns her head.

  
“I think we can agree that nobody died today and nobody is leaving,” she says.

  
John puts his hand on Shaw’s shoulder where he saw her get knocked against the concrete, and Shaw squeezes his hand and says “Jesus, _it’s fine,_ ” just as Root grabs Harold’s tie and pulls him close.

  
Harold’s mouth opens under hers, his hands in her hair, pulling a little, and she hums against his lips at that, wanting more.

  
John is making an effort to unbutton his shirt even with Shaw worrying at his lower lip with her teeth, his blood-slick fingers slipping on the buttons, and Sameen rolls her eyes at him, grabs the fabric and _pulls_ until the buttons fly off with the satisfying sound of ripping cloth.

  
Harold stops kissing Root to glare at her.

  
“God, buy him a new one, then,” Sameen says, and goes to work on Reese’s belt.

  
“Lie back,” Harold tells Root, who is being rather smooth with the way he has opened her blouse and unhooked her bra on her back without having to stop kissing her once.

  
Root does, propping herself up on her elbows.

  
She looks up at John.

  
“You remember when I said I didn’t like you?” She asks.

  
John chuckles, although it turns into a groan when Sameen gets a hand into his pants.

  
“You said it right to my face, so,” he says.

  
“Well, I still don’t like you,” Root says, “But I’m glad you didn’t die.”

  
She puts two fingers under his jaw, her nails scraping over his skin, and guides him down so he can kiss her.

  
When they part, John wiggles his eyebrows a little in that stupid way he does, and says:

  
“Thank you?”

  
Root rolls her eyes, except Harold has unbuttoned her jeans and is busy pulling it down her hips along with her underwear, which is definitely more interesting.

  
“I could put on that auburn wig that you liked,” Root says, shaking out her hair.

  
She’s _game_ , the delicious high of adrenaline and the thrill of the chase making her skin tingle, and Reese and Shaw are apparently in a competition to see who can make the other one come first.

  
Harold, who has probably been tugging on his tie to straighten it because he looks perfectly put-together, presses his lips together in a way that means he’s smiling.

  
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Harold says.

  
Root wonders what he’s planning, if Harold is a missionary position kind of guy, when he bends his head to kiss his way along the inside of her thighs, pressing against her skin with his thumbs so she spreads her legs wider for him.

  
“So, you can either watch them or you can fuck me,” Sameen says to John, who has been distracted by the sight of Harold’s head between Root’s legs.

 

She circles her thumb over the head of his cock, making him gasp.

  
To his credit, Reese recovers quickly, taking the condom that she hands him and letting her straddle him, smart enough to realize that it will be him on his back.

  
He gets his hand between their bodies so he can curl his fingers against her clit and Shaw sighs and pushes her hips down against him, letting herself enjoy it for a moment before getting down to actual business.

  
“You don’t waste much time, do you?” Root asks, leaning back so she can watch Sameen, who is slowly lowering herself on Reese’s cock.

  
“Foreplay is for whimps,” Sameen says, while Reese makes a _“Hnnghh”_ sound beneath her with the first movement of her hips.

  
Root has a really smart reply to that, except Harold is apparently an expert in more than just computers, judging by the way he presses his tongue against just the right spots.

  
Root arches her back, surprised at the exquisite feeling of his clever tongue and fingers, the delightful slick pressure against her clit.

  
John and Sameen are doing something rather athletic beside them, setting a quick, desperate rhythm with Sameen curling her hips against him until his hands come up to her sides, thumbs resting on her hipbones, the barest bit of pressure.

  
“Just _touch_ me, Reese, I’m not going to break,” she says, and he gets a hand into the hair in her neck and pulls her down, and that hurts just right.

  
Sameen finds a sensitive spot on his neck and bites down, and oh, he seems to like that.

  
“I bet your little therapist girlfriend is more the cuddly type,” Shaw says because she can’t help herself, and Reese says “Shut up and do that again,” with a hint of desperation in his voice.

  
Shaw chuckles and leans down to bite some more bruises into his neck and throat, and John shivers deliciously at the feeling of her teeth against his skin.

  
Root moves her hips against Harold’s mouth, and Harold licks along her pussy and raises his head, looking at her.

  
“Like this?” He asks, thumb stroking firmly against her clit in small circles.

  
“Oh, _yes_ like that,” Root says, and then he moves his hand away, the _bastard_ , trailing his fingers over the inside of her thighs, her knees.

  
Root lets her head sink back in frustration.

  
Next to her, Sameen rocks against John, reaching out a hand so she can entwine it with Root’s, and Root holds on to her, her other hand fisted in the sheets.

  
“If you want Harold to fuck you at some point, you should probably tell him to _get on with it already_ so I don’t kill him before,” Root tells John, who gives a whimper at that, hips pushing up against Sameen.

 

Harold dips his fingers inside, teasing her without even getting close to her clit, licking all around her folds except for the one place she needs him to.

  
“I am not going to beg you, Harold, I’m not _John_ ,” Root says, except his fingers are nearly where she wants them, her entire body buzzing with need.

  
John gives a desperate little moan and comes.

 

"Oh, you must be kidding me," Root says.

 

Shaw curses above John, leaning back and shuddering through her own orgasm, her grip on Root’s hand almost painful.

  
“I’m sorry, Miss Groves, what did you say?” Harold asks, because he is an _asshole_ , and Root clenches her teeth, her clit throbbing in time with her pulse where he is not quite touching her.

  
“Oh, alright,” Harold says innocently, taking his hand away, “I had started a book yesterday that I wanted to finish, I’ll just --“

  
_“Please,_ ” Root groans, because he is really unfairly good at this, and Harold tilts his head a little.

  
“But of course, Miss Groves,” he says, and bends down to suck her clit into his mouth, two fingers curled inside her, and she almost forgets to be pissed off with the way her orgasm hits her a few minutes later, Harold drawing out her pleasure with infinite patience.

  
\--

 

Later, after John crawled over to nudge Harold until he had him on his back, unbuttoning his expensive trousers to lean down and leisurely suck his cock, Harold’s hands stroking through his hair, and Sameen and Root had found each other in the middle of the bed, kissing until they were out of breath, both with a hand between the other’s legs, they were all spread out together:

  
John curled around Harold protectively, Root next to Harold, forehead leaning against his shoulder, Sameen stretched out across Root’s body, her hair fanned out around her.

  
Both John and Sameen are curled up and half-asleep already, sated and spent, while Harold and Root are still talking in hushed tones, Root playing with the tie still around Harold’s neck, knot undone.

  
“We should get a nicer bed in here,” Root suggests. “Unless there are hotel rooms that accommodate four at a time.”

  
Harold raises his eyebrows.

  
“Please, there is absolutely nothing money can’t buy.”

  
Root presses her lips against his throat just because she can.

  
“I thought we were cutting back on our spending,” she says.

  
Harold moves his arm so Root can slip beneath it and curl closer.

  
“I think there is room in the budget for some small luxuries,” he says.

  
John throws his arm over Harold’s waist possessively, spooning him even closer.

  
“I don’t suppose we could lose John on the way?” Root asks, closing her eyes.

  
“Absolutely not,” Harold says, sounding elated, and brushes a kiss against John’s forehead.

  
“Everybody shut up, I’m trying to sleep,” Sameen says.

  
At least the dog stays on the couch that night.

 

 

\-- fin


End file.
